


Hope Is What Remains

by IreneADonovan



Series: A Chance of Making Good [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Disabled Character, Canonical Character Death, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erik is a Sweetheart, Extended Metaphors, F/F, Families of Choice, M/M, Minor Character Death, Poor Charles, Protective Erik, Tetraplegic!Charles, Trans Female Character, Trans Hank McCoy, Trans Jason Stryker, Trans Male Character, Unconventional Families, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22740289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Secret Garden (ish) AU. Erik takes a job in Westchester, renovating a mansion full of secrets...
Relationships: Armando Muñoz/Alex Summers, Azazel (X-Men)/Janos Quested, Emma Frost/Moira MacTaggert, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Irene Adler (X-Men)/Raven | Mystique, Kitty Pryde/Piotr Rasputin, Logan (X-Men)/Hank McCoy
Series: A Chance of Making Good [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640062
Comments: 58
Kudos: 76





	1. break from the past

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by The Secret Garden, and while it draws significantly from that source, it has also diverged significantly.
> 
> It also draws somewhat from the album _Clockwork Angels_ by Rush. The main title and all chapter titles are taken from the album.
> 
> Main title from the song "The Garden."
> 
> There will be twelve chapters and an epilogue. Hoping to update weekly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the song "Caravan."
> 
> And Irene paraphrases an older Rush song, "Freewill." The original line is "You can choose not to decide and still have made a choice."

Erik Lehnsherr liked to build things, make things, remodel things. Not just because of his mutation, though that was certainly a factor. More that in the act of creation, he could find a sliver of joy, a moment of connection, that temporarily blunted the pain of loss in his heart.

So the last few years he'd worked construction, done landscaping, even sculpted in his spare time, anything to keep the demons in his memories at bay. But there were too many hours to fill, too many reminders that he was now alone.

It had been a long, dark winter, and work had been sparse, sporadic. He'd spent far too many nights with a bottle as his only companion, and he knew he couldn't continue along that road. He needed to make a change. Maybe get out of the city for a while.

To that end, he'd started skimming online want ads statewide, knowing his skills were easily marketable. But most of what he found was just more of what he'd been doing, nothing that called to him. Except for one, a position in Westchester County, supervising the repair and renovation of an old estate, accommodations provided, employer mutant- and LGTBQ+-friendly.

The last two were a definite plus, and Erik called immediately, spoke to a woman who introduced herself as Raven, the current owner. She asked him some pointed questions about his skills, and his answers stressed his mutation's role in what he could do. She sounded delighted. The plan, she said, was to turn the estate into a school for their kind, a sanctuary for those who needed it, a place for all to master their powers. "It was my brother's dream."

_Was?_ Erik had almost asked, but he bit his tongue and said instead, "A noble goal."

Raven had chattered on a bit about their long-term plans, then had offered him an interview the following day.

The drive up went quickly, and he pulled up before the wrought-iron gate a few minutes ahead of the appointed time. The gate swung open, and Erik realized he must be on camera. He drove forward to a small traffic circle with an x-shaped hedge gone somewhat wild at its center. The drive arced to the right, but Erik parked at the side of the circle, in a direct line with the massive front door.

The mansion itself was sprawling, ostentatious, and showing signs of age and mild neglect. The iron and steel and copper sang to his metal-sense, and he was smiling as he exited the car.

He was nearly to the door when a slender woman with honey-brown hair opened it. She was dressed casually in faded jeans and a mint-green blouse, and she was blind, her eyes a milky white. "You must be Erik," she said, offering her hand. "I'm Irene, Raven's wife."

He shook it. "Pleasure."

"Come in. Raven will join us in a few minutes. Our daughter is being difficult about taking her nap." 

Daughter. His heart gave a painful squeeze.

Irene smiled softly. "Come in. I'll start showing you around." She turned and stepped back inside, gesturing for him to follow.

He did, finding himself in a grand foyer with ornate wood panelling, a floor of inlaid marble, and a soaring, branching staircase at the far end. He paused, staring, taking it all in, noting signs of age and wear.

Irene smiled. "Grand, isn't it?" Then, before he could either squelch the thought or ask it, she said, "And no, I can't see it, not in the conventional way. I'm a precognitive -- I see possible futures."

"Useful." And a little scary.

Irene chuckled. "Sometimes. And a pain in the ass other times."

"So will I take the job?" Erik didn't really expect an answer. His experience with precogs was they tended to be cagey as hell, preferring to let the future unfold unhindered when possible.

"Yes," she said, her smile growing enigmatic. "Your presence here is necessary to the optimal unfolding of events, both for you and for all of us."

Optimal unfolding? "You make it sound as though I have no choice in the matter."

"You do. We all do," Irene said soberly. "We all always have free will, and even choosing not to decide is making a choice." Her smile returned. "Now come. Let me show you around."She turned and walked toward the staircase, a slightly outstretched hand the only concession to her blindness.

The whole place really was ridiculously grand, but as they walked, Irene explained the plans for remaking it, and Erik found himself getting excited for the project. The world needed a place like it, and he wanted to be a part of making it happen. He analyzed the building as they went, pleased to note the metal skeleton was structurally sound, with only a few areas beginning to succumb to age and rust. The plumbing and the wiring, on the other hand, would need serious work. And Erik was just itching to sink his powers into the metal and get started.

Raven caught up to them in the ballroom. (The _ballroom_!) She was younger than he'd expected, looking barely out of her teens. And she had a spectacular physical mutation, with scaled cobalt skin and sleek scarlet hair. She grinned, her teeth brilliant white in contrast, as she hurried toward them. "Erik, welcome," she said. "Sorry I was delayed. Our daughter didn't want to lie down, even though she was yawning every two seconds."

That brought a pang of bittersweet memory that Erik subdued with effort. "No problem," he said. "Kids are like that."

Raven laughed. "Yes, they are. I hope you don't mind them -- we've got six running around here."

"It's fine," Erik said, and it was, painful memories aside. "Are they all yours?"

Now it was Irene who laughed, soft and warm. "No, only two are ours. Logan --he's the groundskeeper -- and Hank have taken in three, and Alex and Darwin are raising Alex's younger brother." She paused as her smile broadened into a grin, then added, "And yes, there actually is one straight couple here, Kitty and Piotr."

Erik shot Raven a glance. "Does she always do that? Answer unasked questions?"

"Always," Raven confirmed. "You'll get used to it."

Erik doubted he'd ever get used to it.

The rest of the tour went smoothly, and they finished in the west wing on the top floor. "Some of the most urgent work to be done is up here," Irene said.

Erik didn't sense anything either in particular disrepair or out of the ordinary, save for a smallish room clad in an unusual metal alloy, but they were the bosses. If they wanted him to start up here, he'd start up here.

"When can you start?" Raven asked.

"A week," Irene answered before Erik could even open his mouth.

This was going to be interesting, Erik knew. Possibly like the Chinese curse: May you live in interesting times. But it certainly wouldn't be boring, and it was for a good cause. "A week," he confirmed.


	2. a world of cut and thrust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "BU2B" from Rush's Clockwork Angels album.

True to his word, Erik returned to the estate a week later. He opened the gate with a flick of his powers then pulled up at the side of the traffic circle again as Raven ran out to meet him, gesturing for him to roll down his window.

He did, and she said, "Follow the drive around and find a space in the garage. Kitty and I will help you move your stuff."

Erik opened his mouth to protest -- he really didn't have that much, and he'd made sure to pack metal in every box -- but the earnestness shining in her golden eyes made him relent. "Okay."

He followed the road around to the back of the mansion to find a garage as ridiculously huge as the house itself. It was half-filled with vintage cars whose steel sang to his metal-sense, including a cherry-red Mustang convertible, plus a few modern (and far less interesting and less metallic) cars, a Harley Golden Flash, and a newish van that had some sort of machinery inside.

He parked in an empty slot, exited the car and headed for the door at the far end. Raven was already waiting there with a petite brunette he presumed was Kitty.

She was. Her voice was soft and low as she introduced herself and asked, "Need help with your things?"

"I think I've got it," Erik said, using his powers to tug gently at her watch. "I packed metal in every box ."

Kitty's smile grew mischievous, and her dark eyes twinkled as she said, "But I can take shortcuts you can't." She held up her hands, then passed one through the other.

"Nice," Erik said. "Knock yourself out."

Kitty headed toward his car as Raven motioned for him to follow her. "Most of us are up on the third floor, but Irene said you'd be happier someplace with fewer people."

She was right, though Erik wasn't sure "happy" was a word that would ever really describe him again. "Is Irene as infuriating as she seems?"

Raven snorted. "Worse." She led him through the halls, ending in an area less ornately furnished than most of the rest of the house, though it still had carved wood trim on the walls and an intricate mosaic on the ceramic-tile floor. "This used to be part of the servants' quarters," she said, "but we converted it into a pair of apartments."

"Anyone in the other one?"

"Darwin, Alex, and Scott. Irene says you'll like them."

Erik arched a brow.

Raven sighed. "She swears you will, that even though you try to pretend you're a grouchy bastard, you've got a soft spot for kids and people as damaged as you."

That hit uncomfortably close.

"And FYI, everyone here is damaged in some way or another. It's what drew us all here."

Erik's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Then I should fit right in."

Raven appeared, just for a moment, to channel her wife without fully transforming, her topaz eyes clouding over as she said, "You will." Then they cleared and she smiled and said, "I'll let you get settled in. We can get to work in the morning."

"Sounds good," Erik said, though he would have been just as happy to get started today. "Mind if I take a walk around the grounds once I'm done?"

"Feel free," Raven said. "Just be careful around Logan. He can be -- grouchy."

"I can handle grouchy."

"Grouchy, with long adamantium claws."

Erik smirked. "I control metal."

Kitty arrived then with the massed stack of his boxes, appearing right through the wall. She set them in the middle of the main living area then left with Raven.

He unpacked the essentials -- he really didn't have that much -- set his precious photo of Magda and Anya on the nightstand and went to find his way outside.

Almost immediately, he encountered a rangy African-American man walking his way. The man flashed him an easy grin and said, "You must be Erik. I'm Armando, but most people call me Darwin. Looks like we'll be neighbors."

Erik shook the proffered hand. "Good to meet you. Darwin?"

The man's grin broadened. "Because of my mutation. I adapt to survive. Gills in water, armor against getting hit, insulation against fire or cold, that sort of thing, and I once quit breathing for an hour just to see if I could."

"Nice."

"It has its uses." Darwin shot a glance down the hall. "Sorry, I gotta get going. Scotty gets scared when he's alone too long."

"Your son?"

"My boyfriend's kid brother. He lost his sight a little over a year ago, and he's still adjusting."

No surprise, that. "Go," Erik said.

"See you around, man," Darwin called as he headed down the hall.

Erik found his way outside, exiting out a door at the rear of the mansion. The back grounds showed more signs of neglect than the front did. The immediate area had once been a formal English garden, now just a tangled mess. As he wandered the overgrown paths, he wondered idly whether Logan would be open to assistance. Spring was fast approaching, and Erik itched to get his hands in the soil, to plant something that would live and grow. Magda had loved to garden, had awakened the passion for it in him.

He could still see her kneeling in the grass at the edge of a flowerbed, trowel in hand, sun sparking ruddy highlights in her dark hair. Anya, in her carrier, had snoozed beside her in a mild torpor induced by the late-spring afternoon. The sun warm on his cheeks, the sweet perfume of roses heavy in the air, and bees humming as they went about their work...

A sharp, sudden pain jarred him out of reverie, and he discovered he'd missed a turn in the path and barked his shin on the corner of an old stone bench. Still half-lost in the fog of memory, he sank onto the weathered stone surface, the chill of it pulling him the rest of the way back to awareness.

His girls were gone. Long gone. And he was still alone.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but eventually he became aware of a rather large mass of metal, an alloy he'd never felt, coming toward him. He looked up, saw a burly man with long sideburns and oddly-styled hair, realized the metal was fused to the man's skeleton. "Hey, bub," the guy said. "Who are you?"

"Erik. You Logan?"

"Yeah. I take it you're the construction guy."

"Yeah. My mutation is kind of made for making things." Erik took a ball bearing from his pocket and shaped it into a delicate chain.

Logan plucked it out of the air. "Neat trick. Telekinesis?"

Erik shook his head. "Magnetic fields."

The chain all but disappeared in Logan's broad hands as he fingered it. "Mind if I give this to my daughter?"

"Of course not." Erik ignored the pang that squeezed his heart. "Just let me finish it." He took a second ball bearing, shaped a bit of it into a clasp, the rest of it into a filigree pendant, and attached both to the original chain.

Logan smiled, transforming his intimidating visage into something soft. "Thank you. Jade will love this." He carefully tucked the chain into a pocket of his flannel shirt. "Anything I can do you for?"

Erik nodded. "Is there a spot where I could plant a little garden, nothing fancy, just someplace where I can plant a few of my wife's favorite things."

"You're married?"

"I was," Erik replied, voice tight.

Logan was silent for a long moment, but compassion shone in his hazel eyes. Then he nodded and spoke softly. "I think I know the perfect place. Follow me."

Logan led Erik around to the far side of the mansion to an area surrounded by a high brick wall. He went to a weathered wooden door and wrenched at the knob; the door screeched and scraped and squealed in protest but ultimately yielded.

"C'mon in," Logan said as he entered.

Erik followed, stepping into what had probably once been a lovely garden but was now mostly a tangle of dead plants and weeds. The two gnarled apple trees looked salvageable, as maybe were the leggy rosebushes against the far wall, but probably not much else.

"This was part of the kitchen gardens," Logan said, "where they grew all the frou-frou stuff like candied rose petals and shit." Logan gestured at the rosebushes. "Needs a lot of work, though, and I've got a bunch of jobs that are higher priority. You want it, it's yours."

"It's perfect," Erik said.

He spent the rest of the day exploring the space, clearing debris, visualizing what he wanted to put where. He saw a vegetable garden occupying much of the space, with a large flowerbed along the back wall where the rosebushes were.

He worked steadily, methodically, until he cleared debris from the back corner and uncovered a small patch of violets. Magda's favorites. He dropped to his knees and plucked a single tiny flower, squeezing it gently to release the scent, losing himself in the memories it evoked.

What was that quote Magda had loved, the one about crushing violets? Something about their scent being forgiveness? Yes, forgiveness to the heel that crushed them.

He squished the flower between his fingertips, loosing a cloud of scent, and cast it away. He couldn't forgive so readily. Couldn't forgive the unjust god that had taken his wife and child. Couldn't forgive at all.

_**Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it. ~~Mark Twain** _


	3. so delicate and so grand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Clockwork Angels" by Rush.

Erik woke just after sunrise, made himself a pot of coffee, and savored the first cup, relishing the early-morning quiet. He'd just poured a second cup and was contemplating going for a run when Raven knocked on his door. Her golden eyes gleamed bright as she told him, "Irene says you should join us for breakfast."

Erik just managed to curb the urge to roll his eyes.

"C'mon," Raven entreated, grinning. "Logan's pancakes are to die for."

Erik offered only a token protest as Raven tugged him out the door. He really liked pancakes.

The aroma of batter frying in butter had his mouth watering before they even reached the kitchen, which was as ridiculously huge as everything else. Logan stood at one stove, tending a griddle full of pancakes. He wore a red apron and had a streak of flour just above one bushy sideburn. Darwin stood at another stove, stirring a skillet of scrambled eggs.

The kitchen contained an extra-long table for the adults and a smaller one for the kids. A platinum blonde in white silk pajamas sat at one end, sipping coffee from a white mug. On her left was a slim woman with auburn hair who glared groggily into her coffee. To her left was a man who was the very image of a cartoon devil. He was signing animatedly with the man on his other side, who looked like a male model, with long dark hair and flashing eyes. A lanky, geeky young man who couldn't quite meet Erik's gaze sat to their left, and two empty seats rounded out that side of the table.

Kitty was in the seat across from the auburn-haired woman, slumped against a tall, muscular man with dark hair. On their other side was an empty seat, then a compact, muscular blond who studied Erik with wary, almost hostile eyes. Irene sat to his other side, a toddler with a distinctive white streak in her dark hair on her lap. The last place on that side was vacant, as was the end, which had a place setting but no chair. Raven headed for the spot by Irene and gestured at the seat across from hers. "Have a seat," she said.

Erik slid into the seat and a round of introductions followed. The blonde at the end was Emma, the auburn-haired woman was Moira, the devil-man was Azazel, the male model was Janos, the geek was Logan's partner Hank, the angry blond was Alex, the toddler on Irene's lap was Anna Marie, and Kitty's pillow was Piotr. Both Piotr and Azazel were Russian and unleashed torrents of that language after Erik managed to greet them with an "Очень приятно" before being forced to admit how little of the language he actually remembered from college.

Conversation was minimal, as most everyone was still waking up, so Erik let his gaze wander to the place he'd been avoiding, the kids' table. There were five kids seated there, ranging from fourish to maybe ten. The two youngest were a girl with dark hair, intense dark eyes, and the same metal-enhanced skeleton as Logan; and a boy with a tail like Azazel's but with skin of indigo covered in matching velvety down. Raven's son as well as Azazel's?

Erik could identify two of the three older children. The little blonde girl had to be Jade, Logan's daughter, because she wore the pendant he had made. She was maybe eight, with wavy golden hair that tumbled down past her shoulders and bright blue eyes, and she wore a pink dress and a white sweater decorated with embroidered flowers. Anya would have been nine this year, Erik remembered, and he sucked in a breath as his heart contracted.

The two boys looked to both be around ten. Scotty, the boy Darwin had spoken of, was identifiable by the dark glasses that didn't quite hide the scars on his face. The other boy, as blond as Scotty was dark, gazed at him with too-wise blue eyes.

Darwin came over, bearing a large platter of scrambled eggs. He stopped at the kids' table, served each of them, then came to the adults' table, handed the platter to Raven, then took a seat next to Alex. "Hey, Erik," he said, "have you met my angrier half?" Alex glowered until Darwin slung an arm around his shoulders and kissed his temple, then he smiled softly.

Erik nodded in acknowledgement then took the platter of eggs as it came around.

Logan brought a heaping platter of pancakes to the adults' table and slapped it down, then he took a smaller plate of pancakes to the kids' table and dished them out. He made sure Scotty had butter and syrup, then he cut the younger kids' cakes, starting with the little girl's. Once he turned his attention to the indigo boy's plate, the girl looked sly, a pair of metal claws shot from her hand, and she used them to snare a chunk of pancake. Logan tried to look stern, but he was clearly trying not to laugh as he tapped her wrist and shook his head. She pouted as he returned to the adults' table and sat next to Hank. He wrapped an arm around the other man's shoulders and reeled him in for a kiss. Hank blushed furiously but didn't pull away. "Erik," Logan said once he was done, "meet my smarter half."

Erik took several pancakes when the platter came to him then proceeded to slather them with butter. Darwin offered him the syrup, but Erik declined with a shake of his head.

"Hey, Logan," Alex said, "isn't that against Canadian law or something? Not liking maple syrup?"

"None of you are Canadian," Logan drawled, straight-faced. "You get a pass."

Erik continued to spread butter as he said, equally straight-faced, "I guess you could say I like my pancakes like I like my men, hot and well-lubricated."

Hank looked scandalized, but everyone else laughed. Logan leaned over and whispered loudly into Hank's ear, "I know what I want to do with the extra syrup." This time Hank's blush was even more crimson than Logan's apron.

Erik was about to take his first bite when his gaze fell again on the unused place setting. "Are we missing someone?" he asked.

Raven's golden eyes grew impossibly sad, and Irene extended a knowing hand to squeeze her shoulder in support. "My brother Charles," Raven said. "He's, he's not well, and he seldom joins us, but I always hope."

Erik was sure there was much she wasn't saying, but he wouldn't push.

Amazingly, Hank was already finished with his food, and he pushed his chair back from the table and picked up his empty plate. "Speaking of Charles," he said, "I should check on him. Erik, if you'd meet me on the third floor, west wing, when you're done. I've got your first project ready." Gone was the shy geek, replaced by a confident professional.

"I will," Erik said.

The rest of the meal passed swiftly, and Erik found he really enjoyed this unruly bunch of fellow mutants. That he had felt comfortable enough to make the crack about pancakes was telling.

Yet he still felt he had no right to be happy, not when his girls were gone.

Erik swallowed the last of his coffee, rose, and took his empty plate and cup to the dishwasher. He'd just reclosed the door and turned to go when Jade scrambled off her seat and ran to him. "Mr. Erik?" She gazed up at him with wide blue eyes.

"Yeah?" He gentled his voice as much as he could.

"I just wanted to say thank you for the necklace," she blurted.

"You're quite welcome," he said. "I like making stuff like that."

"Will you show me how you do it?"

"Of course." Erik's heart squeezed as memories of entertaining Anya with his powers flooded his brain. "But later, okay? I need to do some work right now."

"Okay." Jade beamed up at him. "I've got school now anyway." She cocked her head, studying him. "Can I hug you?"

His heart contracted further, but how could he refuse? "Sure, sweetie." He dropped smoothly to one knee, and once her arms had looped around his neck, he wrapped his arms gently around her torso.

"Thank you," she said again, and then the moment was over and she was letting go and pulling away, and the loss hurt more than the hug itself had.

"You're welcome," he said, voice little more than a rough whisper, as he watched her go.

He went up to find Hank, who met him near that odd metal-lined room. "Your powers," he asked. "Can you replicate alloys?"

"Child's play," Erik answered.

"How precisely?"

"Down to the atomic level, if necessary."

Hank's brows rose, and he looked suitably impressed. "We don't need it to be quite that refined." He pulled two small metal plates from a pocket. "We need you to turn this," the alloy that lined the room, "into this," a similar alloy with a bit of added titanium.

"Do you want a demonstration? I'll need titanium."

Hank fumbled in another pocket and withdrew a finger-sized bar of titanium.

Erik used his powers to lift the titanuim-less plate from Hank's hand and to take a neat slice from the titanium bar. Then he merged them in midair, melding them into a precise replica of the alloy Hank still held, then placing the new plate atop its twin.

"Fascinating," Hank said, staring at the small square of metal. "Come with me." He led Erik into the metal-clad room, which was empty of everything but a hospital-type bed camouflaged under a teal spread, an overstuffed chocolate-brown recliner, and a large chunk of titanium on the floor.

"I take it you want me to add the titanium to the walls," Erik said.

"Please."

Erik glanced about the room. "Can I ask what the purpose of this room is?"

"Telepathic shielding."

"Afraid someone's going to go poking around in your brain without permission?"

Hank flushed. "Hardly. It's for Charles. He's a telepath, a strong one, but his health is quite poor, and he loses control sometimes. We bring him in here so he won't accidentally hurt someone."

Wow. Erik tried to imagine his powers being that out-of-control. "Okay," he said, "I can do that." But he immediately saw one issue. "What about the window? It won't be shielded."

Hank sighed. "It can't be helped. I can't take away his view."

"I think I could make a mesh over it, invisible to the eye. It wouldn't block everything, but it would damp it down."

"Excellent." Hank looked impressed. "I'll leave you to it then."

Erik worked steadily, taking most of the morning to remake the alloy on the walls, ceiling, and floor. He took a break when Raven brought him a roast beef sandwich, chips, and a bottle of cold water. She'd been prompted by Irene, of course.

He spent the afternoon weaving an ultra-fine mesh over the wide window. Such precision work was difficult, and by the time he was done, he was exhausted, though in a good way. He kept dozing off during the communal dinner, which was a shame because Irene's lasagna was ridiculously good.

He managed to stay upright until he stumbled into his bedroom and flopped face-first onto his pillow.

**~xXx~**

Erik awoke to full darkness and the echoes of a dream so real he could still feel the silky strands of Anya's hair under his fingers as he brushed it. But his hands were empty as his heart.

He squinted at his bedside clock. Three-thirty. He knew from experience he wouldn't sleep again before morning, so he sat up with a low groan then climbed wearily to his feet.

He went to the window, pulled back the curtain to look at the quiet chaos of the back garden lit by the silvery glow of a full moon. The glass was chill under his fingertips but not frigid, and he made a quick decision.

One benefit to having fallen asleep in his clothes was that he only had to stuff his feet in his sneakers, grab jacket, cap, and gloves, then head for the door.

The air outside was bracing, refreshing, and walking through the wild English garden calmed him, revitalized him. He paused at the door to his own garden but didn't open it, remembering how noisy it had been, not wanting to shatter the night's stillness or risk waking any of the mansion's other inhabitants.

He returned to the stone bench where he'd met Logan, intending to sit, but he was halted by a wave of searing fire, a raw grief as familiar as it was painful. He looked up, saw the window he'd worked on. Raven's brother, the out-of-control telepath.

The agony continued in waves, nearly driving him to his knees. He knew this kind of pain, had lived it for years, but that it came from outside scarcely made it easier to bear. He closed his eyes, forced the pain into a box and slammed the lid.

The visualization helped, reducing the pain to a manageable level.

He stood for a long minute, staring up at the window as the pain rippled through him, then he began moving without really planning to, through the door and back inside, the pain fading as soon as he was away from the window.

He wove his way through the corridors until he stood before the door to the telepath-proof room.

He took a deep breath, turned the knob, plunged inside.

The pain slammed into him full-force, sending him reeling. Only his hand on the door he'd yanked shut behind him allowed him to remain upright. He forced in a deep breath and embraced the pulsing pain, making it a part of him, melding it into the pain he always carried.

Once he'd subdued the projected pain, he straightened and was finally able to take in the room's occupant, lying on the bed with the covers drawn up to his shoulders.

He was an angel come to earth. Even in the dim lamplight, his eyes gleamed like sapphires. His hair was deep chocolate, shot through with russet and amber, tumbling in loose curls nearly to his shoulders. His skin was luminous porcelain dusted with tawny freckles. And his lips, bitten and swollen, were a vivid ruby.

He didn't register Erik's presence immediately, but then those beautiful, haunted eyes focused in on him. "Who are you?" he asked. "Are you even real?" His voice was a rich baritone, his accent unexpectedly and unmistakably English.

"I'm Erik, and I'm as real as you are." Erik crossed to the bed and set a hand on the other man's forearm where it lay under the covers, squeezing gently.

Charles laughed bitterly. "If you want to prove you're not a figment of my imagination, you'll have to move your hand a good deal higher."

"Pardon?"

Those blue eyes were wells of grief and sorrow as Charles spoke quietly. "I'm a tetraplegic, Erik. I can't feel anything below my shoulders."

Erik slid his hand up to Charles' shoulder, squeezed again. "I'm still real."

"How are you even here? No one can bear to be around me when I lose control. Hank has this helmet he uses just to be able to get me into this room."

"I understand pain," Erik said simply.

Charles' eyes were hectic-bright, almost fevered, as his gaze locked with Erik's, studying, evaluating, shining with a glimmer of frantic hope that he was no longer alone. "Yes. Yes, you do. I can feel it." His lower lip quivered a bit as he said, "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's done," Erik said hoarsely.

"Is it? Aren't we all prisoners of our past?" Charles asked bleakly.

"Are we?" Erik asked. Maybe. He certainly was a prisoner of his own, but hearing it stated so baldly somehow rubbed him the wrong way.

The haunted look faded just a bit from Charles' face as he said, "Even if we are, I'm grateful that you can stand to be around me. I feel like no one else really can, even when I'm in control of my powers."

Erik couldn't believe that, just based on what little he'd seen here so far. "Surely it's not that bad. I know your sister loves you."

A smile flickered on Charles' lips, faded as quickly as it appeared. "She does. But all I am is a burden to her."

"You're not."

"I am," Charles insisted. "I'm helpless, useless. I sometimes, most times, think it would have been easier for everyone if I'd died along with my father."

"Don't think that," Erik said, his fingers tightening on Charles' shoulder. Charles winced, and Erik forced his hand to relax, but his voice remained fierce. "Don't ever think that."

Bitterness dripped from Charles' words like rain. "You mean you'd be okay with your wife or your daughter living like this?"

On a surface level, the idea of either Magda or Anya being paralyzed seemed horrifying, yet on a deeper level-- "If it was the price for their being here, then yes, a thousand times yes. And if it was the price demanded of me to have them with me, I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat."

Erik leaned down so he could look straight into those heart-stopping eyes. "But that's not an option for either of us. My family is gone, and I'm willing to bet that if you asked Raven, she'd tell you she wants you here, that you're not a burden, you're family, and she'd give up her own life if it meant keeping you safe, because that's just what families do."

Charles' eyes were wet as he said, "Thank you." He offered Erik a wobbly smile, and the pulsing pain in Erik's skull abruptly faded to a whisper.

"For what? For being rude?" He had been, at least a little, or at least over-blunt. He could almost feel the weight of his ma's disappointment, never mind that she and his dad had moved to Arizona to be near Ruth and the babies and couldn't possibly know of his transgressions.

"For not treating me like I'm made of glass, like I'll break again."

A tear trickled onto Charles' cheek, and Erik brushed it away with his thumb. "You're not made of glass. I suspect you're one of the strongest people I know."

"You, you really think that." It wasn't a question, reminding Erik that Charles was a telepath. He could still feel a faint presence in his mind, warm and gentle.

"I do," Erik said. His thumb lingered on Charles' cheek, then he let his fingertips caress Charles' stubbled jaw. "Are you going to be okay?"

Charles blinked a few times, his eyes still damp. "Yeah. As okay as I ever am, anyway."

Erik looked deep into Charles' sorrowful blue eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you before I go?"

"Don't go," Charles said quickly, not quite pleading. "I-I don't want to be alone right now." He nodded toward the space beside his leg. "Have a seat, if you would."

Erik nodded, sat carefully beside Charles' thigh. "This okay?"

"Yeah." Charles' smile was shaky yet genuine.

"I feel like I should take your hand or something," Erik said, "but I know you won't feel it."

"You can," Charles said. "I won't feel it, no, but I'll see it and know you're doing it."

Erik drew the covers back to uncover Charles' torso, clad in a navy pajama top. His shoulders were broad, and his arms, though slender, were not wasted. He picked up Charles' left hand -- it was warm and vital despite its stillness -- and folded both of his own around it.

They sat in silence for long minutes, each alone with his thoughts, until Erik saw tears welling up in Charles' eyes again. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing new." Charles sighed. "I just sometimes get so bloody tired of this." He shrugged his shoulders by way of illustration, making his hand twitch in Erik's.

"I can't even begin what it's like," Erik said quietly. "But you're a telepath. You could show me, couldn't you?"

Charles looked stunned. "You'd trust me in your mind?"

"Yes."

"No one else does."

"I do. You're still in it a little, and you haven't hurt me."

"If you're sure."

"I am. Go ahead."

Charles nodded, and the warm presence in Erik's mind intensified. The images that followed were far harsher, though. Waking up, unable to move, unable to even breathe on his own. The brief victory of coming off the ventilator, followed by the crushing realization that that would be the last real victory, the knowledge that he would never again feel anything below his collarbones, never again move anything below his elbows. The devastating loss, at just seventeen, of anything that resembled independence -- needing help with even the most intimate of bodily functions. Anger. Despair. And eventually a grim sort of resignation. But not acceptance. Never acceptance.

Charles retreated from Erik's mind, met his gaze. Tears dripped from his sapphire eyes as he said, "I'm sorry. That was too much."

"I asked you to." It had been a lot, yes, but it was also the reality of Charles' existence. Erik brushed Charles' tears away with the backs of his fingers, realized his own cheeks were wet and swiped at them with his other hand.

"Nonetheless, I'm sorry."

Erik cupped Charles' chin with his fingertips and again looked straight into those luminous eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for. You're doing the best you can."

"That's what everyone says."

"Doesn't mean it isn't true."

Something seemed to break in Charles then, and the tears streamed free and fast. "I just, I just don't know if I can do this anymore."

"Don't talk like that."

"I don't want to die, I really don't. I'm just damned tired of living like this. It's been twelve years." Charles tossed his head in frustration as the tears continued streaming.

"My ma always says we shouldn't ask for lighter burdens but for stronger shoulders."

"Bullshit."

Erik chuckled. "That's what I say. And then she smacks me for language."

Charles tried to laugh, but it came out a broken sob, and his shoulders shook with the force of his weeping. "I'm just so tired, so tired."

Not knowing what else to do, Erik pulled Charles into his arms and held him, just held him as he wept. Charles' broad shoulders shook with the force of his tears, but slowly his sobs yielded to a quieter grief, and exhausted, he let his head rest on Erik's shoulder. "Thank you," he murmured.

"It's nothing," Erik said.

"It's anything but," Charles insisted, voice shaky and hoarse.

"You going to be okay?" Erik asked.

"For a given value of okay."

"Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?" 

"I don't know if I can sleep," Charles said. "Just hold me for a while. Please."

"Okay." Erik's gaze fell on the recliner, giving him an idea. "Would you be okay with my picking you up? I have an idea."

Charles sniffled a little. "No one ever asks. They always just do it." His breath was warm against Erik's neck.

"So is it okay?"

"Yeah. Just be careful of the catheter."

"Got it. I'm going to lay you back down for a minute, okay? Just so I can get us set up."

"Okay."

Erik lay Charles back and then rose. He pulled the covers all the way back, quickly locating the slender catheter tube. There wasn't a lot of length to it, but it would be enough. He pulled the recliner close with a wave of his hand.

"Oh, that's fabulous," Charles said. "I wish you could see what your mind looks like when you use your mutation. It just lights up."

"You can show me later," Erik promised. He lifted Charles carefully, took a step back, sank down onto the recliner, and settled Charles on his lap, tucking the smaller man's head against his shoulder once again. Then he borrowed the pull chain from the ceiling light, repurposed it into a pair of clamps that he used to lift Charles' comforter and drape it over the two of them. "This okay?"

Charles nestled his head into the juncture of Erik's neck and shoulder. "Very okay."

Erik doused the light with a tendril of his power, wrapped his arms a little more securely around Charles, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Очень приятно = Nice to meet you.


	4. paint the world black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "The Anarchist" from Rush's _Clockwork Angels_ album.

Erik woke slowly, feeling a warm weight in his arms and soft hair against the side of his neck. Had he been rocking Anya to sleep again?

An inevitable stab of pain as he woke enough to remember. Anya was gone. They were both gone.

So who was in his arms? He fought his way back toward awareness, realizing the weight on his legs was more than Anya had ever been.

Metal. A lot of metal, all around him, singing to his senses. Memory seeped back on the metalsong. His late-night wanderings. Meeting Raven's mysterious brother Charles. The man's unearthly beauty and depthless pain.

And now waking up with Charles in his arms. Erik opened his eyes to soft dawnlight streaming through the window and Charles' head resting on his shoulder, hair charmingly rumpled. His face was relaxed, peaceful, and his ruby lips curved in a soft smile.

Erik smiled to himself and closed his eyes again. He was in absolutely no hurry to wake Charles.

He was awakened a bit later to brighter morning sunshine, insistent fingers prodding at his shoulder, and Raven's golden eyes gazing curiously down at him. "Care to explain?" she asked. She didn't sound angry; she sounded impressed.

"I couldn't sleep, so I went outside. I felt his pain, and I couldn't stay away."

She looked even more impressed than she'd sounded. "How did you even stand it? I can't."

"I know pain," Erik said simply.

She studied him and her still-sleeping brother. "The bigger question is how you got him to let you hold him. He usually hates being picked up or held."

"All I did was ask. He says no one ever asks."

Raven looked startled, then stricken. "G-d, I never even thought -- it's not like there's any real choice in most of what we do for him."

"Don't beat yourself up," Erik said. "I don't think even he realized until I gave him the choice."

Raven nodded, looking pensive. "We need to wake him, though. It takes a while to get him through his morning routine."

Erik had gleaned a hazy sense of what that routine entailed, and to say that it was complicated would be an understatement. "Okay," he said. "What's the best way to wake him?"

For an answer, Raven set her hand on Charles' shoulder and shook it, gentle but firm. "Charles," she said. "Charles, it's time to wake up."

After a minute, Charles' eyes blinked open, their bright blue muzzy with sleep. He looked confused, then he focused in on Erik's face. "Erik," he said. "You stayed."

A smile, faint but genuine, found its way to Erik's lips. "Of course I stayed."

"Thank you." Charles offered him a soft smile. The pain still lingered in the depths of his sapphire eyes, but it was a quieter grief, not the raw agony of earlier. He caught sight of Raven, and the smile faded. "It's that time?" he asked quietly.

Raven looked apologetic. "Yeah."

Charles sighed. "Okay.

Raven studied Erik. "Can you stand up while you're holding him?" Then evidently remembering the earlier conversation, she asked, "Is that okay, Charles?"

Charles looked startled, then his smile came back, a bit brittle but still lighting his face. "Yeah."

Raven tugged a manual wheelchair forward. It was clearly custom-made, with a titanium-alloy frame, high back, and curved, padded armrests.

Erik caught Charles' eye, and at Charles' faint nod, he slid one arm under Charles' knees and used the other to securely cradle the younger man's torso, snugging his chest against his own. Lifting Charles this way was more difficult, but the last years of physical labor stood him in good stead. He turned, took two steps, and lowered Charles into the wheelchair.

He'd barely stepped back when Raven took over. She arranged Charles' legs on the footplate then placed each arm on its rest, taking care to lay his wrists out straight. "Okay?" she asked.

Charles' smile had faded, and he looked resigned. "Yeah."

Raven moved behind the wheelchair, looked at Erik. "Breakfast should be around eight."

"Okay." Erik caught Charles' gaze. "Will you be joining us?"

Charles chewed his lip, clearly biting back an automatic demurral, then he nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Raven's golden eyes widened.

Charles laughed, a little bitter. "Is it that surprising?"

"Charles, it's been _months_."

"Has it really? It doesn't seem that long."

"It was Christmas morning."

"Oh."

Raven started pushing Charles toward the door. "Anyway, c'mon. If we're going to have you ready for breakfast, we need to get moving."

Erik followed them out and went downstairs. He made himself coffee, savored the first cup as he considered Charles, so beautiful and so haunted. He took a shower, then had more coffee. That took him to nearly seven-thirty, and he decided to head down to the kitchen.

Darwin was making french toast, and the scents of citrus and cinnamon and butter hung heavily in the air. Alex sat at the long table, glowering into his coffee, while his brother sat next to him, curled sleepily against his side.

Erik slid into his own chair. "Hey, Alex."

Alex looked up, his expression growing less stormy. "Hey, Erik. Have you met my brother, Scott?"

"Hey, Scott. I'm Erik."

Scott sat up straighter and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Erik half-stood, reached across the table, and shook Scott's hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, too."

Scott grinned. "You made that necklace for Jade."

"I did."

"Could you make me something, too?"

"Scott--" Alex's tone was warning, his expression wary.

Erik held up a hand, and Alex fell silent. "Of course I can. What would you like?"

Scott tilted his head considering. "Can you make a cat?"

"Sure." Erik used his powers to pull out some of the ball bearings, nuts, and washers he always carried in his pockets. "Would you like to feel what I'm doing?"

Scott beamed. "Yeah."

"Hold out your hands."

Scott placed his hands together, slightly cupped.

"Perfect." Erik lowered the metal bits onto Scott's left hand, and Scott used the fingertips of his right to trace their contours.

Erik melded the disparate bits of metal into a cohesive whole, letting the metal dance on Scott's palm and against his fingertips. The boy's grin lit his face.

Erik shaped the cat quickly, a small figure sitting on its haunches, the details clear enough that Scott's fingers would be able to identify them. "How's this?"

Scott traced the contours of the figurine. "Amazing." His grin widened even further as he said, "Thank you, Mr. Erik!"

Hank and Logan arrived then, Logan with a broad hand on the shoulder of each of their older kids, Hank carrying their youngest. Hank settled her on her chair, ruffled her hair, then headed toward the coffee pot, mumbling, "Morning," at Erik and Alex as he passed.

Scott slid out of his chair and turned around. "Jimmy? Jade?"

"We're here," Jade said softly.

"Look at what Mr. Erik made me." Scott held out the little cat, and Jade took his hand and studied it.

"That's wonderful," she said, even as her brother said, "Cool." She led Scott to the seat next to hers.

"Thanks, man," Alex said, eyes on his brother.

"No problem," Erik replied.

"He's been wanting a cat," Alex said. "I told him I'd see if I could find a kitten once the weather warms up."

"If you want, I can keep an eye out."

"Yeah. Scotty'd like that."

Many of the others had drifted in now, though Raven and Charles were still absent. Irene settled Kurt and Anna Marie at the kids' table, made two cups of tea, and came to the adults' table, her hip just brushing the table's edge as a guide.

She set one cup at Charles' place at the end of the table, the other at her own, then pulled out her chair. "Thank you," she said, an enigmatic smile lighting her delicate features. "Charles really needed you last night."

Erik shook his head, forgetting for a moment she couldn't see it. "I didn't do anything special."

"You did," Irene said. "You're good for him."

"I doubt that," Erik said dryly. "I'm not good for anyone."

"Yes, you are," Irene insisted, her smile soft and knowing. "And he's good for you."

Sometimes Erik genuinely hated precogs, and he might have said something really bitchy, except Raven entered the kitchen then, pushing Charles' wheelchair.

All conversation halted.

Charles looked better than he had earlier, his crimson lips curved in a faint smile, his sapphire eyes bright, with only the ghost of sorrow reflected in their depths. His dark hair was a little damp, curling softly over his forehead and along his neck. He wore a simple long-sleeved navy t-shirt and soft-looking grey trousers that made his slender frame look more substantial.

His smile broadened as he saw Erik. "Hello again."

"Hello." Erik glanced away from those hypnotic blue eyes, inexplicably uneasy.

Raven parked Charles' chair at the end of the table then slid into her own seat. She, too, smiled at Erik, then she pressed a quick kiss to Irene's cheek before picking up Charles' tea cup and lifting it to his lips.

Charles took an appreciative sip, then another. "Perfect, Irene, as always," he said. Then he looked again at Erik. "Thank you, my friend."

Erik looked away. "I didn't do anything special."

"You most certainly did." Charles' voice was soft, earnest.

Erik met his gaze again. "How are you doing now?"

Charles shrugged. "As well as I can be, I suppose." There was a bleak note to his voice Erik understood all too well.

The last few stragglers had arrived by then, and Darwin approached with a heaping platter for the adults' table and a smaller one for the kids' table. He set the larger platter down, then went to serve the kids. Alex stared pointedly at the syrup bottle, smirked, and passed Erik the butter.

Silence descended as the eating began. Raven fed Charles in between bites of her own food, her movements automatic, habitual. Charles looked frustrated, making several abortive motions with his slender forearms, now held straight by leather-and-metal braces that stretched from his knuckles almost to his elbows.

Erik couldn't help but wonder if Charles might be capable of doing more than anyone gave him credit for, including himself.

All went smoothly until near the end of the meal. Then Irene grimaced and set her cup down before tugging gently on Raven's arm and murmuring something to her. Raven's gaze cut to the floor, and Erik's followed suit. A small yellow puddle was spreading beneath Charles' wheelchair.

A moment later, Charles also looked down. He stared for a minute, then unleashed a torrent of curses. He lifted one arm and swung it wildly toward the table, and Erik just had time to latch onto the metal of the brace and halt its motion. Then Charles swung his other arm, so Erik caught that one, too.

Charles glared daggers at him, and his voice became deadly-quiet. "Let me go."

"Not if you're going to try that again," Erik said mildly. "Messes happen. There's no need to compound them."

"How would you know?" Soft and bitter.

"I had a daughter. Kids are messy." Memory summoned Erik's own well of grief, and he let himself fall. "I'm done," he announced. Done with his food, done talking, done with Charles, at least for now. He rose, collected his dishware, took it to the sink. He didn't release Charles' hands until he reached the door.

He went to his garden, needing physical work to settle his nerves. He understood Charles' grief, he really did, but at the same time he wanted to just shake the younger man, make him see it for the gift it was.

A scattering of early daffodils, some solid butter-yellow, others white with egg-yolk centers, greeted him from the corner of the garden, bringing a soft smile to his lips. Anya had loved daffodils, calling them "little sunshines." He sank to his knees, fingering a bloom, losing himself in the bittersweet ache of memory for long minutes. G-d, he missed them.

Finally, he rose and set to work, knowing he could finish clearing the debris in an hour or two, and then he would go in and start assessing the needed repair work, making a comprehensive list so he could prioritize the individual tasks. That was a job that could easily take a week.

He was just bagging the last of the debris when Raven slipped in through the open door. He might not have noticed her save for the polished gold of her wedding ring.

He met her gaze warily. "Here to fire me?" He doubted she was, but he couldn't be sure.

"For?"

"Manhandling your brother."

Her smile was wistful, pensive. "Today was the first day in a long time that Charles even got angry. He gave up a long time ago. But you've woken something in him."

Erik could only hope that was so.

"I was hoping," Raven continued, " that you'd be willing to spend some time with him, whatever you're willing to spare. Irene says you're good for him, and that maybe he'll be good for you."

Erik sighed. Irene again. But he wouldn't punish Charles because she annoyed him. "Of course," he said. "I'm almost done here, then I was going to start assessing the repairs."

Raven nodded. "Stop and see him first. He really wants to see you." Her smile grew a little conspiratorial. "And Irene says you play chess almost as well as he does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. This is a tough time for all of us, and a comment, no matter how rambling or how pithy, means more than you can imagine. Kudos are nice, but comments are gold. So please comment! (Even if it's just a 💜.)


	5. the glint of iron wheels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me as I've written this, and most especially to everyone who has offered support through my recent health difficulties. Plus an extra shout-out to misrashic for suggesting who Charles' high-school girlfriend should be. I love you all! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
> 
> Title is from "Carnies" by Rush.

It took about an hour before Erik made his way to Charles' suite. He'd been delayed by a little surprise he'd decided to bring, a smallish pot of daffodils. He'd taken three that were just blooming then planted a ring of those that hadn't yet bloomed around them. A little something that might bring a smile to Charles' haunted features.

He knocked, then entered as Charles called "Come."

Charles sat in an electric wheelchair that made his slender frame seem even more delicate. He sat at a small table against one wall, an open book before him, and his smile seemed genuine as he said, "You came."

"I wanted to apologize," Erik said.

Charles appeared puzzled. "For what?"

"For grabbing your hands."

"You owe me no apology. I should apologize for my dreadful behavior."

Erik smiled, just a little. "How about we agree we both behaved badly and move on?"

Charles nodded, his smile growing shy. "Let's."

"I brought you something," Erik said, awkward, holding up the pot.

Charles' smile broadened. "Daffodils! They're in bloom already?"

"A few early ones. I thought you might like them."

"I love them." Charles' smile grew wistful. "But I miss the gardens. I know Logan is starting to restore them—"

"So am I."

"You are?"

"My wife loved gardening. It makes me feel closer to her. Logan is letting me take over what used to be the kitchen garden."

"I wish I could see it."

"There's not much to see yet." Erik hesitated, then said, "But I can take you out there if you want."

Charles chewed his lip before sadly shaking his head. "I can't."

"We could make it happen."

Charles sighed. "I can't. I just can't." He lifted his braced hands, let them fall back into his lap. "Too many memories."

"Fair enough. But if you ever change your mind, the offer still stands."

"Thank you."

"I'll just set these in the windowsill." As he did so, he said, "Raven says you play chess."

"I do." Erik heard a note of genuine excitement in Charles' voice.

"Care for a game?"

"Always." Charles' sapphire eyes glowed as Erik walked back toward him. "If you don't mind helping set things up.

"Of course not." Erik glanced around, looking for a chess set.

Charles smiled. "There's a set in the bedroom — it was my father's — but if it's all right with you, I'd like to play on my tablet today. That way I can make my moves without help."

"Okay."

Charles backed his chair up and turned around, using the brace on his hand to work the joystick. He talked Erik through affixing a stylus to the brace on his right hand, then told him where to find his tablet.

Erik disconnected it from the charger, then turned back toward Charles.

"Pull up a chair. We can put the tablet on my lap, if that's okay."

"Yeah." Erik set the tablet on Charles' legs, pulled up a chair as Charles opened the app.

They were evenly matched, despite Irene's proclamation, and as they played, they chatted, each getting to know the other while steering well clear of their personal pains.

Charles won narrowly, and Erik rose with regret. "I have to get to work. Will I see you at dinner?"

Charles bit at his lip. "Maybe."

Erik took that answer for the victory it was.

**~xXx~**

They settled into something of a routine over the next weeks. Erik worked in the garden first thing in the morning, then spent the rest of the day on the early stages of the renovations. Charles began appearing regularly at meals, and after dinner, he and Erik would play chess. Charles won a bit more than he lost, but Erik didn't mind, as long as it kept putting a smile on Charles' face.

And Charles was smiling more, though the grief still shone in the depths of his eyes. Erik continued to bring little surprises from the garden, just to see those sapphire eyes light, if only for a minute. A little pot of violets. Other bulbs he found as he dug out the beds — they'd been used to mark out the spaces. A battered gold ring he'd found under one of the apple trees. And he continued to nudge Charles to come out and see the progress he was making in person.

Charles continued to demur, but he hesitated longer each time.

One Friday, he was planting tomato seeds when he became aware he wasn't alone. He felt a familiar filigree necklace, and he looked up to see Jade peering through the open door. She flushed as she realized he'd seen her, but she stood her ground.

He beckoned her in. "Where are Scott and Jimmy?" he asked, knowing they were thick as thieves.

"Playing with frogs down by the lake," she said, wrinkling her nose. "The water's _slimy_ down there, and I didn't want to get it on my dress." She'd come close, curious. "What are you doing?"

"Planting tomatoes."

"Can I help?"

"You might get dirty."

"Dirty's okay. I just don't like slimy."

"Fair enough. Hold out your hand."

She did, and Erik poured some seeds into it. He pointed at the shallow grooves he'd marked in the dirt. "Sprinkle those in there, not too many. You saw how I did it?"

She nodded.

He showed her the jar with the rest of the seeds, then how to smooth a thin layer of dirt over the seeds. "You work on that. I'll work on one of the other beds. Okay?"

He moved to the bed where he was planning to plant zucchini, knelt again, began driving stakes into the short sides of the bed. He'd tie strings to the stakes to use as row guides.

As he worked, he caught a flash of movement at the top of the wall, looked up to see a chubby cat land mostly gracefully near the open tool shed. As it trotted toward the open shed door, he realized it — _she_ — wasn't chubby but very, very pregnant.

Erik smiled. Scott might just get his kitten. He'd start leaving food out for mama, find an old blanket or something for a bed. "Jade," he called softly. "Look, but stay quiet."

She raised her head. "Kitty. Can I bring Scott to see her?"

"Not yet. We don't want to spook her away. She's going to have kittens soon. We need to leave her food and water and a place to sleep. Get her to trust us. Once the kittens come, we can tell Scott."

"Okay."

They continued to work together until Erik had finished with the stakes; and Jade, with the seeds. "Enough for today," Erik said. "I need to go into town and buy cat food."

That night he told Charles about the kittens, just to see him smile.

**~xXx~**

Mama-kitty learned to trust him and Jade surprisingly quickly; she might well have had a home with humans before. She would lie in her nest of blankets and purr rustily when Erik skritched her ears with a fingertip, and she would even crawl into Jade's lap.

She had her kittens a little over a week after she first appeared, in the middle of the night. Erik found them in the morning, all snuggled up together, five kittens nursing contentedly, mama looking weary but proud.

A mama with her family. Erik blinked back the mist that blurred his vision and got to work.

Jade came in after a bit, her blonde hair loose and wavy around her shoulders, her blue eyes bright and sparkling. "Hi, Mr. Erik," she said with a broad smile. "Did they come yet?"

Erik smiled back. "They did. Five of them."

Her eyes went wide. "Can I see them?"

Erik nodded. "You know the rules."

"Let mama decide what's okay and what's not."

"Exactly."

Jade approached mama kitty's box cautiously and dropped to her knees. She extended a hand for mama to sniff, then lowered it to stroke the kittens with a tentative finger. "They're so soft," she said. "Could we take them up to Mr. Charles?"

He'd thought she'd ask to show Scott and Jimmy first. That she'd thought of Charles first warmed his heart.

"Please?"

He thought quickly. "Maybe just one of them," he decided. "The biggest one."

Jade beamed and went to pick up the big grey, but Erik blocked her hands. "Just a minute. We need to be careful." He shrugged off his flannel overshirt. "Let's wrap it in this, keep it warm."

He folded his shirt into a little nest, and Jade scooped up the kitten and set it in his hands. He in turn set the bundled-up kitten into Jade's arms. "Walk," he said. "Don't run."

They made their way up to Charles' suite, and Erik knocked on the door.

"Come in," Charles called.

They stepped in, and Charles beamed at them.

"We brought you a surprise," Jade said, grinning. She approached Charles, holding up the bundled fabric.

"They came? The kittens?" Charles asked, sussing out what she held.

"Uh-huh." She stopped beside him and began peeling back the folds of fabric.

"How many?"

"Five," Erik said. "Two grey, two brown, one ginger."

"Marvellous."

"This one's the biggest," Jade said. She'd finally gotten the kitten unwrapped, and she held it up for Charles' inspection.

"He's so tiny," Charles observed. "Yet you say he's the biggest."

"Yes," Jade pronounced.

Charles held up one braced hand, stroked the kitten gently with limp fingers, reminding Erik he couldn't actually feel the kitten this way."

"Let me," he said to Jade, nudging her hand with his fingers. She nodded and set the kitten on his hand.

He lifted the kitten up to Charles' face. It raised its head, eyes still tightly closed, sniffed his cheek, then leaned in closer. "So soft," Charles said, wondering.

Erik moved the kitten even closer, so that its tiny body was right up against Charles' cheek. "It's purring," Charles said, a grin lighting his face, his blue eyes sparkling.

Erik held the kitten there for another minute, then reluctantly said, "I should take it back to its mama now."

Charles stared at the tiny furball wistfully. "I suppose you should."

Jade held up the flannel shirt to rewrap the kitten. "You should come down to Mr. Erik's garden," she told Charles. "You could see the rest of the kittens."

Erik expected Charles to demur like he always did, but instead he said, "Yes, I think I'd like that." He looked a little startled by his own agreement, but he didn't back down.

"Now?" Erik asked.

"If it's not too much trouble."

"Never," Erik assured him. "Jade, would you take the kitty back to its mama while I help Charles?"

Jade beamed at being trusted so much, and he helped her re-wrap the kitten, then she set off back to the garden.

Erik turned back to Charles. "What do we need to do?"

Charles looked nervous but excited. "It'll be easier if I'm in the manual chair, I expect. It's in the bedroom." He nodded at the doorway.

Erik could feel the other wheelchair from where he stood, and he used his powers to retrieve it. "What else will.you need?"

Charles bit at his lower lip, making it even redder. "Is there someplace I could sit for a while down there? Maybe under a tree?"

Erik thought of the apple trees. "Yeah."

"Then take some blankets for us."

Charles directed Erik to a cupboard stacked with quilts. "Would it be all right if I took these down then came back for you?"

"Yeah. Or I could hold them for you." Charles' voice had grown shaky, uncertainty creeping in, his lower lip quivering.

Erik squeezed his shoulder. "Trust me. We'll get you down there, and you'll love it."

Charles offered him a wobbly mile. "Okay."

"So what do we need to do?"

"Pick me up like you did to get me out of bed, then set me in the manual chair," Charles began. He then guided Erik through making sure his ass — or arse, as he said — was far enough back in the chair, his torso was sufficiently upright, his feet were straight on the footplate, then unhooking the urine bag from the motorized chair and re-hooking it to the manual one.

Eventually he sat ready in the manual chair, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, ready to go. Erik set a bundle of quilts in Charles' lap, stepped behind the chair, and pushed it out the door. 

Almost on a whim, he detoured past the kitchen, where he found a sack on the counter, a note on it with his and Charles' names on it in Irene's careful print. Erik rolled his eyes and muttered something about meddling precogs.

Charles laughed. "That's my sister-in-law you're talking about. But yes, she does meddle." His laugh was a little nervous, but the only other outward sign of his remaining anxiousness was the way one braced hand worried against the top quilt. Erik gave his shoulder another reassuring squeeze before wheeling him the rest of the way outside.

The path to the kitchen garden, while clear, was not as smooth as he'd thought. Several times he took advantage of his powers, lifting the wheelchair over the rough patches while using his hands to make sure Charles didn't spill from his chair. He hadn't really considered that Charles had no way to save himself from a fall if his body tilted too far the wrong way.

Eventually Erik got them both through the door. "Oh my g-d, Erik," Charles said. "This is amazing."

Erik gazed at the garden, satisfied with the progress he'd made. The beds of vegetables were showing signs of life, the first seedlings poking up through well-turned earth. The flowers were a bit further along, but it would still be a whole before they were full and lush, the way he imagined them. The apple trees were beginning to leaf out, and the rose bushes had been pruned, their woody stems beginning to green up.

"Do you want to see the kittens before I get you set up under a tree?"

Charles' eyes continued to dart about the garden as he said, "Yes, if it's possible."

"We can make it happen," Erik declared. He pushed Charles' chair up near the door of the shed, pulled the door open, then wheeled Charles into the interior. Jade was still with the kittens, and she beamed as they came in. "Mr Charles! You made it.

He smiled back at her "I did."

"Shouldn't you be getting to your lessons?" Erik asked. "You can see the kittens again later."

She scrambled to her feet, gave him a hug around his waist. "Thank you." Then she hugged Charles. "I'm glad to see you down here. I hope the kittens will make you less sad."

Charles smiled softly and said, "Me, too."

Jade scampered off, and Mama-kitty raised her head at the disturbance, one eye slitting open, sleepy and content and wary all at the same time. She was sprawled on her side, belly on display, four of the five kittens lined up and nursing. Only the ginger kitten wasn't in the row, curled up by mama's tail instead.

Charles noticed, and he pointed with one braced hand. "Why isn't that one nursing? Is it all right?"

Erik chuckled. "It's fine. It just doesn't like being in the pile with all the others. It'll nurse in a bit."

They watched the kittens for a couple more minutes, then Erik backed Charles' chair out of the shed and took him over to the apple tree.

It took him a few minutes to get Charles set up on the blankets, his back supported against the trunk, his legs stretched out, his braced hands lying in his lap. "This okay?" Erik asked.

Charles looked down at his body. "It's perfect, my friend."

Friend. Erik seldom did friends, and Charles' words stirred a pleasant warmth in his chest. "Let's see what Irene sent," he said, voice gruff with emotion.

"Probably brownies," Charles said as Erik tossed down a blanket for himself to sit on. "She knows I love her brownies."

Erik dropped onto his blanket and opened the foil-wrapped packet. Sure enough. Brownies. He picked one up and lifted it to Charles' lips.

Charles took a bite, gave an obscene moan, his eyes closing in bliss. "Mmmm," he said as he swallowed, then his eyes blinked back open. "Try it, my friend. Take a bite."

Share? Erik's intention had been to feed Charles, then eat one of his own, but there was no reason he had to do it that way. He took a bite, and his eyes closed in surprised delight. After he swallowed, he said, "Damn that's good."

Charles grinned. "Told you so."

They shared the brownie and a cup of icy milk from the thermos, then another brownie and more milk. Erik let Charles lick the last gooey crumbs from his fingers, then held the cup to his lips to let him drink the last swallows of milk. Charles let his head fall back against the tree's trunk as he sighed contentedly. "Thank you, my friend," he said.

"You're welcome," Erik said, rubbing at his aching temples.

"Are you all right?" Charles asked softly.

"Just a headache," Erik replied. "I didn't sleep well. I never do."

Charles nodded, tilted his head in thought. "I think I can help with that. Lie down with my head in your lap. I'll give you a massage."

Erik was startled, and he gazed pointedly at Charles' limp fingers.

Charles smiled, a little sadly. "I know, but I think I can make it work. Let me try."

Erik never could have resisted those earnest blue eyes. "Okay." Erik shifted around and resettled with his head in Charles lap. The sun-warmed fabric of Charles' trousers was warm against the back of his head, soothing. "Does this feel okay?" he asked before remembering Charles couldn't feel Erik's head in his lap, his shoulders on his thigh. He blushed a little. "I mean—"

"I know what you mean," Charles assured him, "and while I very much wish I could feel your head in my lap, I simply cannot." He sighed, and Erik could see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "I don't even know if this will even work, if I can even do this." His jaw set in determination. "But I want to try."

Erik locked eyes with Charles. "Go ahead. I trust you."

Charles pressed his curled fingers against Erik's temples, rubbing carefully there and across his forehead. "Let me know if I hurt you," he said. "It's hard not being able to tell how much pressure I'm using."

"All right." Erik drifted contentedly in a haze as Charles massaged his head and neck. Charles' touch was firm but gentle, his curled fingers providing soft, even pressure. His touch grew lighter, though, once he started working around Erik's eyes and sinuses, and Erik leaned upward, chasing the touch.

"Sorry," Charles said, trying to increase the pressure. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I know," Erik said. Thn an idea struck him. "Could you come into my mind, feel what I feel, use that to judge how much pressure to use?"

Charles' eyes brightened. "Erik, that's brilliant. Let me try."

Erik nodded, and Charles slid gently into the outer layers of his mind, searching for the connections he needed. Then Erik felt Charles' triumph as he found the right part of Erik's mind. "I can feel my fingers on your face," he said, wondering.

"Good," Erik said.

Charles resumed the massage, his touch firmer and more sure, and Erik let out a low groan of pleasure and let his eyes fall closed. Charles continued as Erik descended onto a blissful daze where he stayed even after Charles withdrew his hands and his mind.

"Thank you," Charles said, with a final touch to his cheek.

Erik came to a little while later, feeling more rested than he had in a long time. The sun was overhead, filtered through tree branches, and memory trickled back as he became aware of a pair of sapphire eyes watching him. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Not too long, I don't think."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." Charles touched his cheek. "I've been enjoying just sitting here."

Erik pushed himself to a sitting position. "Nonetheless."

"Erik, you gave me two incredible gifts today. You brought me out here, reminded me just how much I missed being out here. And you let me feel what you felt, feel what it's like to be touched by another person for pleasure, not just out of necessity."

"I was glad to do both," Erik said. "Any time you want to come out here again, I'll bring you."

"Thank you."

"And any time you want to feel something through me, I'd be glad to do that, too."

"You would?"

"Gladly. My hands are yours, any time you want."

"I'll be taking you up on that, my friend. There are so many things I've all but forgotten how they feel."

"Anything."

Charles' laugh was a little bitter. "I doubt you truly mean _anything_."

"I do."

"Then would you kiss me?"

Erik hesitated, just for a moment, but it was long enough for Charles' berry-red lower lip to quiver and for tears to gather in his too-blue eyes. "I'm sorry," Erik said hurriedly. It's only that I haven't kissed anyone since my wife passed."

"Your wife." Charles' voice was hollow. "And I'm a man, a tetraplegic one at that. Forgive me, my friend. I fear I've overstepped badly." Another mirthless chuckle. "So to speak."

Erik cupped Charles' jaw in his hand. "It's not that, not at all. That you're a man isn't an issue. Nor is your paralysis. It's just that I haven't kissed anyone, haven't wanted to kiss anyone, since she was killed."

"I'm sorry, my friend. I should never have asked."

"No." Erik's voice was emphatic. "Don't think that.

"How can I not?" Charles sighed morosely. "It's only that it's been so bloody long since anyone kissed me."

Erik stroked Charles' cheek with his thumb, asked softly, "How long?"

"Twelve years," Charles admitted.

"So before you were paralyzed?"

Charles shook his head. "Just after. Lili — my girlfriend Lilandra — she tried, but she just couldn't deal with what had happened."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't blame her, not really. I couldn't deal myself at the time. I was seventeen and paralyzed from the shoulders down, couldn't even breathe on my own yet."

"I'm still sorry you had to go through that."

"As I am sorry you had to endure what you have endured. I know you loved your family."

"With all my heart." Erik had a realization then, one that perhaps had been too long in coming. "But that doesn't mean I should have stopped living my life for so long. They wouldn't have wanted that."

Erik cradled Charles' face in his hands and leaned forward slowly. Charles' eyes had gone wide, ocean-deep pools of blue, in recognition and anticipation of what was about to happen. Erik's lips brushed across Charles', which were as plump and soft as they looked.

Charles leaned up into the kiss, and touch-starved as they both were, they came together driven by raw need, a hunger nonetheless tempered by gentleness. Charles was inexperienced, but his lips parted willingly, and his tongue twined with Erik's.

After, once they'd both come back to earth, Charles looked at Erik, his sapphire eyes still glazed with desire. "I don't suppose we could do that again?"

They could, and they did.


	6. shameful to tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! My health has been less han good, so writing has been sporadic. But I'm finally starting to feel better, and I thank you all for staying around. Special thanks to the members of the [X-Men X-Traordinaire 18+](https://discord.gg/BnRnqnTQND) Discord for all of their love and support. Y'all rock!

They kissed for a while, gentle and exploring, until Erik’s back began to twinge in protest at the awkward angle. “Would you mind if I moved you?” he asked quietly.

Charles gazed at him with those sapphire eyes. “Not at all. What are you thinking?”

“You on my lap.”

“Mmn, I like the sound of that.”

Erik maneuvered both of them around until his back was firmly against the tree, Charles’ legs were draped across his thighs, Charles’ side was snugged firmly against his torso, and his arm was wrapped securely around Charles’ back.

He started to lean forward for another kiss but was stopped by Charles’ hand against his cheek. His gaze met Charles’, quizzical.

“Thank you,” Charles said, “even if these are just pity kisses.”

Erik put a finger to Charles’ ruby lips. “They aren’t,” he said, voice low and a little rough. “Don’t ever think that.”

Charles continued to gaze into his eyes, hopeful but not quite believing.

“I like you,” Erik continued, “and I like kissing you.” His hand cupped Charles’ cheek. “I can’t promise any more than that, not now, not yet, maybe not ever, but I can give you that much of me.”

Charles smiled softly, a little sadly. “That’s more than I expected,” he said. “more than I deserve.”

“More than you deserve?” Erik’s instinct was to protest vehemently, but he held his tongue.

Charles nodded.

“You can’t mean because you’re paralyzed.”

“No,” Charles answered quietly. “Because both my parents are dead because of me.”

Erik was stunned. “What? How?”

“The night of the accident,” Charles began, voice small and tremulous, “I’d gone out drinking with some friends. The police caught us and called our parents. My dad came and got me. He was so mad -- I could feel the anger radiating off him in waves. I was drunk, and my control was shite, and I just couldn’t bear it. I screamed at him to just shut up--” Charles paused, gulping air, blinking back tears. “I-- I don’t remember anything else until I woke up a week later in ICU.”

Erik said nothing, just continued to hold Charles.

“They told me the car hit an oil patch -- it was raining -- and skidded off the road and rolled. I was thrown clear. My dad was still in the car when it slammed into a tree. He was killed instantly.”

Erik brushed Charles’ tears away with the back of one hand. “How is that your fault?”

“Don’t you see? I yelled at him, distracted him. Besides, he wouldn’t have been out there in the first place if it wasn’t for me.”

“That doesn’t mean it was your fault,” Erik said gently. “There’s a reason people call them ‘accidents.’”

Charles sighed, unwilling to hold Erik’s gaze. “It still feels like it was,” he said. “My mother, too. She drank herself to death two years later.”

Erik took Charles’ chin in his hand and looked deep into those teary sapphire eyes. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault.”

“But--”

Erik cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. ”Not. Your. Fault,” he repeated. “I know you won’t believe me, not yet. I don’t believe me yet, either. I've spent most of the last five years looking for something I could have done differently, to keep Magda and Anya with me.”

“How did it happen?” Charles asked, voice still shaky.

Erik sighed, closed his eyes. “Wrong place, wrong time. Magda was getting groceries when the store was robbed. When they found her body, she-- she was wrapped around Anya, trying to protect her. Anya died in surgery a few hours later.” His voice broke, the grief that lived just under his skin threatening to envelop him.

“I’m sorry, my friend.”

Erik let the tears come. “If I’d been there, I could have stopped the gunmen, melted the guns, disintegrated the bullets. _Something_.”

“But you weren’t there.”

From anyone else, the words would have seemed an indictment, but Charles’ voice, warm and low, made it a simple statement of fact.

“I should have been,” Erik persisted. “It was my turn to shop, but I’d been called in to work.”

“Not your fault,” Charles said softly.

Erik sighed. "That's what I keep telling myself. My head knows it, but my heart isn't listening."

"Hence what you told me."

"Yeah."

Charles offered him a tight, wry smile. "I guess we're both pretty screwed up."

Erik wiped at his lingering tears. "Yeah."

Charles touched Erik’s cheek with curled fingers, brushed at the dampness. “Kiss me again.”

Erik did, at first just a brushing of lips, deepening to something hungry, passionate, needy. Charles, though inexperienced, was enthusiastic and a quick learner. His tongue tangled with Erik’s in a primal duel, his lips insistent against Erik’s own.

They were utterly caught up in each other, so much so that it took a spike of startled awareness and someone’s pointed throat-clearing to jolt them back to awareness. Erik lifted his head to see Raven smirking at them.

“Now I know why Irene told me to come out and find you for lunch.” Her chuckle was a little dry.”I take it this is new?”

“Very.” Erik’s tone was dryer still.

“I asked him to kiss me,” Charles said, clearly defensive, “and he obliged.I may be paralyzed, Raven, but I’m still almost thirty, and I I know my own mind.”

Raven held up placating hands. “I know you do, big brother. That doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you.” She fixed Erik with a penetrating stare. “And it won’t stop me from hurting you if you hurt him.”

“I won’t.”

Raven’s smile held an edge as she said, “You’d better not.”

“I won’t,” Erik repeated.

Raven’s smile grew satisfied. “Good. Bodies are so hard to hide.”

“Raven!” An indignant squawk from Charles.

Raven grinned unrepentantly. “Just stating a fact.”

“Bring it,” Erik said with an answering, predatory smile.

Raven cocked her head, taking in the sight of her brother on Erik’s lap. “So are you two coming to lunch? Or are you going to keep snacking on each other?” She wrinkled her nose. “Ew. I can’t believe I just said that.”

Erik’s stomach answered for him, rumbling loudly.

“I’ll see you inside,” Raven said, still grinning.

As she left, Erik eased Charles off his lap, rose, and picked him up. He set him in the wheelchair, arranged his limbs carefully, then set off toward the mansion.

All conversation stopped when they entered the kitchen.

Erik scowled at the gathered mass of mutants, even as they beamed at him.

"Be nice," Charles admonished.

"I'll try," Erik muttered as he set his hands on Charles' shoulders and squeezed gently.

Erik set Charles up at his usual spot at the head of the table, then slid in next to him.

Irene gave him a knowing smile.

 _Meddling precog_ , he thought, but he really wasn't that upset.

**~xXx~**

After lunch, he parted company with Charles and went back to work, but he had trouble concentrating, memories of Charles' soft lips rising unbidden in his mind.

Then Magda's image appeared in his memory, her sweet face overlaid on Charles', and Erik flinched as if he'd been doused with ice water.

He loved her, always would. And kissing Charles felt somehow like a betrayal of that love. But Charles was here, Magda was gone, and he was damned tired of being alone.

Guilt flooded him at the thought. He'd sworn to love her forever.

Her voice echoed in his ears, and he didn't need to listen to know what she would say. She would tell him she was gone, but he still lived, that he shouldn't spend that life in mourning, that he deserved to be happy.

His wife had been an eminently practical woman. He was the one who'd always been the hapless romantic fool. And that was why losing her and Nina had so utterly destroyed him.

Charles had awakened in him the desire for something more than bare existence, and the knowledge of that fuelled his guilt.

He needed to talk to his ma.

He pulled his phone from his back pocket, plopped onto the floor, and dialled.

“ _Süßer_? What’s wrong?”

“Why do you always presume something’s wrong when I call?”

“Because I know my son.” He could hear the affection behind her words.

Erik sighed, leaned back against the wall, answered quietly. “I feel like I'm betraying Magda’s memory.”

“Explain.” Her gentle voice carried the force of a command.

Erik was silent for a long moment, then spoke, barely above a whisper. "I kissed someone, Ma."

"Did you enjoy it? You must have, or you wouldn't be so upset."

"It was amazing," Erik admitted, "but it still feels like I'm cheating on Magda."

“You aren’t.” His mother’s voice was gentle but firm. “She’s gone. Your mind knows it, but your heart hasn't caught up yet.”

“I know.” Erik’s voice was tight, and tears dampened his eyes.

“It’s okay for you to move on with your life. It’s been killing me to see you so lost.”

“Thanks, Ma.”

“Now tell me about this person you kissed. Was it someone you work with?”

“Not exactly.” He sucked in a breath. “His name is Charles, and I guess technically he’s my boss.”

“Technically?”

“He and his sister own the place I’m renovating, but she’s the one who hired me.”

“He wasn’t involved in the process?” He could hear concern and puzzlement in her voice.

“No.” He paused, thinking how to continue, and his ma, bless her, didn’t push. “He hasn’t been well,” he finally said.

“Is it something serious?”

“It’s not cancer or anything like that, if that’s what you mean. He’s paralyzed, Ma, from the shoulders down.”

“Oh, Erik. That must be so difficult for him.”

“He’s been in a really dark place for a long time, and he's only now trying to find his way out."

"Like you."

"Yeah."

"Maybe you can find the way out together." His ma's voice was warm, a little hopeful.

"Maybe."

"Good. Now tell me about this Charles of yours."

"He's brilliant, Ma. He makes me think, challenges my points of view, even if he's a bit too much of a bleeding heart. And he can beat me at chess."

His ma chuckled.

"And he's absolutely gorgeous. Bluest eyes I've ever seen. Dark hair, wavy, a little too long. Freckles. Really red lips."

"He sounds lovely, sweetie."

"But?" He could hear a faint hesitation in her voice.

"Just be careful. It's not easy, taking care of someone that disabled, even if you love them."

It was far too soon to be talking about love. Wasn't it?

Still, Charles was someone he could come to love, if he let himself.

"Thanks, Ma."

"Anytime, _Süßer_. Now tell me more."

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. This is a tough time for all of us, and a comment, no matter how rambling or how pithy, means more than you can imagine. Kudos are nice, but comments are gold. So please comment! (Even if it's just a 💜.)


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